


Lost Mortal Boy

by aliencupcake



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dom/sub, First Time, Gods, M/M, Oral Sex, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencupcake/pseuds/aliencupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on break, college student Rhys somehow manages to stumble into a god's territory when visiting a botanical garden. Luckily, that god appreciates cute mortal visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Mortal Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonotadream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonotadream/gifts).



Rhys shouldn’t have been able to get lost in a botanical garden where everything was supposed to be labeled, yet he’d managed it. He couldn’t even find a map, and none of the flowers had signs, which meant they were probably poisonous, or possibly part of a secret government project. This was going well. Maybe Rhys was paranoid, or just too hungry for rational thought. He wondered whom you were supposed to pray to when you got lost in a botanical garden without even the sense to get breakfast first: the God of Flowers, the God of Travelers, or the Goddess of Sustenance. Or maybe the Twin Goddesses of Regret and Bad Decisions.

“Anyone got a map? Or a granola bar?” Rhys said it to nobody in particular. If he hadn’t been worried about the flowers being both legally protected and poisonous, he might have tried to eat one. That bright purple flower with the large petals looked tasty.

“I’m not in the habit of giving out maps to my domain. How did you get in here, anyway? Mortals aren’t supposed to come.”

If that voice belonged to the owner of this park, he _was_ in the business of giving out maps to his “domain,” though Rhys’ request for the granola bar was still unreasonable.

Rhys didn’t even see anyone, so, for all he knew, it was some random person messing with the clueless lost guy. “I paid the entrance fee. Do you need to see my ticket?” He assumed he still had his ticket. 

“That’s quite alright. I’m not angry, just surprised. Mortals don’t usually come this way, but I’ll make an exception for you. You’re cute,” the disembodied voice said. Rhys couldn’t see anyone; maybe he was imagining things.

“Thank you?” It was Rhys’ automatic response to a compliment.

“You sound surprised.”

“I think I’m hallucinating. Or are you genuinely invisible?” As if that would have made things better.

The disembodied voice sighed, before materializing in a cloud of light that coalesced into the shape of a man who couldn’t exist in nature. He was tall and lightly muscled, with long cornflower blue hair, worn in a braid that came almost to his waist, and his eyes matched. His cool dark brown skin was flawless and ageless in a way no mortal could achieve, and few men would wear a giant sunflower in their hair. The man wore a sleeveless robe of fabric in the shade of that sunflower; it skimmed the ground.

“You don’t believe in me?” said the man.

“I don’t think it’s likely a god would stop and chat for no reason.” Saying that didn’t stop Rhys from prostrating himself. If he weren’t mistaken, that man was Vesa, the God of Flowers. The ground was wet with dew, but at least it hid Rhys’ face. He assumed that when he looked up, Vesa, or the image of him, would be gone.

“You’re the one who came to my realm and asked for a map and a granola bar. And you’re cute. That’s not ‘no reason’.”

“Coming here was an accident. You haven’t sent any vines to strangle me to death.”

“So I’d have to strangle you to prove I’m real?”

Rhys kept his face in the dew-covered grass. “It might help.”

Soft laughter spilled from somewhere over Rhys’ head. “That would be a waste.”

There wasn’t anything funny about this situation. Rhys made an inarticulate noise into the grass, which turned into a much _louder_ inarticulate noise when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to see your face when you’re kneeling.”

Despite being certain his face wasn’t in presentable condition, Rhys lifted himself onto his knees. It would have been less disorienting if Vesa would have let his shoulder go.

“Your grass is wet,” said Rhys, who was all too aware of Vesa’s hand on his shoulder. He was also far too aware of how he must look, which was thoroughly ridiculous, his light auburn curls arrayed in spectacular disorder. He wondered what Vesa might think of the ripped jeans, faded black t-shirt, pale gray eyes, or his freckles, of which there were a lot. He felt grubby and underdressed.

Rhys felt the blood drain from his face when he realized he should have been addressing Vesa properly. Instead, he’d started complaining about the grass, which made it a veritable miracle he hadn’t been pollened to death yet. “Uh, sorry…” What _was_ the proper way to address a god who was right in front of you? “...Your Holiness?”

“Sorry for what? And ‘sir’ is less of a mouthful.”

“Yes, sir.” It was weird to say that while he was on his knees.

Vesa _ruffled his hair_ , promptly making Rhys’ heart fail.

“I like your hair.”

Rhys couldn’t breathe, which only got worse when Vesa scooped him into his arms with supernatural speed. He squeaked, almost choking on the air because he could not get enough while he was being held like that. His whole body overheated. Hopefully, divine gardens weren’t flammable.

When Rhys could breathe properly again, he noticed that Vesa smelled of lilacs. He breathed in deeply to check if he were imagining things or not. He wasn’t. He checked again, anyway, trying to get closer to Vesa as he did. Vesa’s laughter vibrated through Rhys; they were pressed together while Vesa carried him to some mysterious location. Rhys didn’t see what was so funny about Vesa smelling like lilacs. It was easier to bury his face in Vesa’s chest than to try interacting with him when nothing made any sense.

Some time later, Vesa deposited him on a chair made of flowering vines. Dark green vines weaved together, sprouting flowers that came in all the colors of the rainbow. Rhys wasn’t sure he was even supposed to sit on them, though the flowers moved out of the way so he didn’t crush them. That was neat. 

It wasn’t a chair, though: it was a swing, and Rhys almost fell off because he hadn’t realized that when it started to move. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No. And you forgot to call me ‘sir’, Rhys.”

“I never told you my name.”

Vesa sat beside him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know? And you forgot to call me ‘sir,’ again. I know you have faith, but you should try to be more polite.”

“I’m in a state of shock. Sir.”

“That’s only going to get worse.”

Rhys wondered how his disorientation could get worse when Vesa kissed him. His state of shock did, indeed, get worse, which didn’t stop Rhys from kissing back, or from making noises which would have gotten him kicked out of any ordinary temple.

It was suddenly too hot for clothes, though Rhys was smart enough, even when disoriented, not to try and strip a _god_. Vesa, however, had no similar compunctions about Rhys: he broke the kiss only long enough to say “Is this alright?” and pull off Rhys’ t-shirt when Rhys nodded his - extremely disoriented now - agreement.

The chair swung back and forth with their activity, which did nothing to calm Rhys’ increasingly-visible need. Vesa’s predatory look helped even less.

“Aren’t you pretty?” said Vesa.

“Thank you? Sir?” Rhys remembered it, that time. He also remembered something else. “I’ve, uh, never done this before.” He needed to clarify. “I’ve never had sex.” Maybe Vesa didn’t even want Rhys that much.

Vesa chuckled, ruffling Rhys’ hair. “That doesn’t bother me, but…” He picked a red flower from the swing chair, making it rock. Vesa handed Rhys the flower. “Suck on it,” he said.

Rhys immediately thought of sucking _other_ things.

“Perhaps a demonstration would help.” Vesa picked another red flower, bringing it to his lips, which Rhys just noticed were quite full and shapely; Vesa sucked on the flower, as if it were a magical straw. Having no better idea, Rhys imitated him, finding the flower did work as a straw of sorts.

Sweet liquid flowed into Rhys’s mouth, indescribable flavor bursting on his tongue, making him want more. The petals tickled his face, and Rhys just sucked harder, wanting every last drop. Vesa’s gaze fell heavy and hot on him; Rhys flushed, and kept sucking until there was no more left.

“You can swallow, if you like.” Vesa demonstrated by eating the flower and tossing away the stem.

The weight of Vesa’s eyes on him intensified. Rhys followed his lead, the flower having a crisp, slightly spicy taste that reminded him of Vesa’s lips. He tossed his stem like Vesa had, no longer feeling hungry at all, at least not for food. 

Vesa looked even hungrier.

He pulled Rhys onto his lap, and slid a hand down Rhys’ back to his ass. He squeezed, just as he bit down right above where Rhys’ neck met his shoulder. Rhys yelped, pain and pleasure mixing in a wild burst. Vesa took that as a signal to squeeze his ass harder.

Rhys writhed on Vesa’s lap, his arousal becoming ever more obvious. Vesa’s own arousal was obvious as well. Enormous _power_ surrounded Rhys; the more Vesa touched him, the more he sensed how Vesa wasn’t human. That only made Rhys’ desire grow.

That desire grew even larger when Vesa scraped his nails up Rhys’ back. The lines of pain were like electricity for his system as they kissed on the swinging chair. Rhys gasped, which Vesa answered with rich laughter and more, deeper scratches. His nails were sharper than those of a mortal man.

“Good boy. You’re being so sweet now.” Vesa’s voice was a purr. “Though perhaps I should teach you a lesson for trespassing, no matter how cute you are.” He said it in a manner that suggested fun rather than true punishment, though the tone of Vesa’s voice called to mind the danger present in nature. Fitting, Rhys thought, as Vesa was a nature god.

“I’d deserve it, sir. Do with me as you will.” Rhys meant every word; Vesa was welcome to have his way with him, punishments included.

With a dark and lascivious smile, Vesa lifted Rhys off his lap. “Strip.” The power of the command reverberated through their surroundings.

Rhys complied, ridding himself of everything as quickly as he could. The command and need to obey couldn’t crowd out all of his worries about what Vesa would think of his body, which was on the thin and narrow side, with some muscle. Rhys was dusted with freckles everywhere that saw sun, chest and arms and legs and back and, of course, his face. The appreciative look Vesa gave, however, did crowd out the rest of Rhys’ worries; he reminded Rhys of those plants that ate live prey. 

As Rhys stripped, he could have sworn Vesa glowed, from the sunflower in his hair to the tips of his sandaled feet sticking out from under his robe. Rhys had little time to notice, though, as Vesa grabbed him and placed him over his knees, ass in the air.

Unless Rhys had vastly misread the situation, he was about to get spanked.

He hadn’t misread. Vesa placed one hand on Rhys’ newly-scratched back and brought the other down on his ass. It took a second for the pain to register and bloom like one of Vesa’s flowers. The next slap fell quickly after, landing on his other cheek with another bloom of pain. The third slap came, harder than the two before it. Rhys cried out at the fourth blow, his ass already beginning to warm.

His flesh gave easily under Vesa’s touch, power sparking at every moment of contact. The chair swung wildly, rocking in time with Vesa’s blows. Pain filled Rhys, melting into and mixing with pleasure, making him moan as Vesa spanked him. He writhed while Vesa held him down; being still became more difficult the moment when Vesa stopped spanking him and scratched his surely-reddened ass with his inhumanly sharp nails. Vesa then squeezed his ass, and Rhys cried out the loudest he had yet.

Vesa stroked Rhys’s ass with a gentler hand, which still sent sparks along the sensitized skin. “Much better, Rhys. And I have something else for you to do now. I want you to get on your knees.” He helped Rhys do just that before Rhys, dazed from the spanking even without getting to come, had returned to full awareness.

When Rhys did regain that awareness, Vesa was naked, except for the sunflower he still wore in his hair, and glorious. Rhys sat, on his knees, about a foot from him, and he was too close to such power; Vesa _was_ glowing, though subtly, the lines of his muscles etched in divine light. _Everything_ was etched in that light, including Vesa’s cock, which was in perfect proportion to his body; long and thick but not so much that Rhys was afraid of the size.

“I’ve never done anything like this before, sir.” Rhys wanted to warn Vesa again, worried Vesa might not think well of him. His ass ached whenever he shifted on the dewy grass, and his cock, which he didn’t dare touch, ached as well.

The smile Vesa offered was surprisingly soft. “You honor me with this gift.” The softness left, replaced by Vesa’s usual commanding nature. He was the only one Rhys had ever met who could make a sunflower hair accessory so intimidating. 

“Come closer and suck me,” Vesa said. 

Rhys shuffled forward on his knees to kneel between Vesa’s legs, his cock still aching. Slowly, he lowered his lips to Vesa’s cock, kissing the tip lightly and drawing back. He breathed in, the scent of Vesa all around him, and, this time, he stretched his lips to surround the head, tasting the tip with his tongue. 

It made him want more, so he swallowed Vesa’s silky-skinned cock deeper. Power crackled around Rhys, amplified by the lustful sounds Vesa made. The swing seemed to have a spell of its own cast on it; it no longer moved back and forth. Rhys went yet deeper on Vesa’s shaft, ignoring his own arousal, and placing his hands on Vesa’s inner thighs. He then took more of Vesa into his mouth, his movements still unsure.

Those movements grew less unsure when Vesa grabbed his hair, twisting it through his fingers, the pain encouraging Rhys. Vesa pushed him even farther along, which Rhys accepted. It was as if Vesa’s power enabled Rhys to do what he’d thought he couldn’t. It would not do to dishonor one of his gods. 

When Vesa relaxed his grip, Rhys pulled back so he could use his tongue more easily; he wanted to taste Vesa, especially the bubble of liquid at the tip of his cock. It tasted like the nectar from that flower. Rhys licked all the liquid up, wishing Vesa would make more, then licked down the shaft, all the way to Vesa’s balls. He sucked on them, and Rhys was rewarded with a throaty moan from Vesa, whose fingers briefly pulled at Rhys’ hair. Rhys earned another moan when he licked back up Vesa’s length. 

Rhys almost believed he was imagining all this; surely, he wasn’t getting such obviously lustful reactions from a god.

“Keep going,” Vesa said. As Rhys followed that order and took Vesa’s cock into his mouth again, he half-wondered if Vesa had read his mind.

It didn’t matter if he had; Rhys focused on going the deepest he had yet, on getting more of Vesa’s taste. He didn’t understand how he knew, but he sensed Vesa was nearing his release.

Vesa said, “Good boy. You like doing that, don’t you?”

Rhys tried to nod around Vesa’s cock. He didn’t quite succeed, but Vesa enjoyed his attempt, bucking his hips towards Rhys’ mouth. Vesa’s movements grew erratic, his hips thrusting without real rhythm, his grip on Rhys’s hair tight and painful. Rhys sucked harder, and then it happened: Vesa came with a soft cry, divine power making the air shake. He spilled his seed into Rhys’ mouth, and Rhys sucked down all of it, tongue working to catch every drop. 

Vesa released his grip on Rhys’ hair, satisfaction evident in his expression and in the liquid lines of his body. He leaned back against the flower chair, which had begun to swing again.

It took a superhuman amount of effort for Rhys not to ask Vesa about his own desperate need. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything, wondering how long Vesa might make him wait.

“Let me watch you.”

Rhys blinked at that languid voice. “Watch me do what, sir?” The moment Rhys spoke, he guessed what Vesa meant. He shuffled back a couple feet to give Vesa a better view and planted one hand in the grass; Vesa nodded his approval. Rhys spread his legs, conscious of how he must look, skin sweaty and flushed and curls in disarray.

If his legs weren’t spread so wide, Rhys might have been in a prayer position. In a way, this _was_ a prayer. Rhys brought his free hand to his arousal, keeping his touch light. He ached so much that too hard a grip could have set him off instantly, and he didn’t want to disappoint Vesa, who looked at him with clear interest despite having already had his orgasm.

Even that light touch was almost too much; in an ordinary situation, it would have done little, but, with Vesa watching, Rhys almost couldn’t take it.

“You should pray like this more often.”

Rhys doubted this scenario would come up again, though he didn’t contradict Vesa, being both disinclined to argue with a god and too aroused for any debate. He glided his right hand up and down his shaft, not even trying to suppress the little gasps and moans that spilled from his lips. Like when he’d eaten the nectar from that flower, Vesa’s gaze poured heat onto him; now, it brought him to the edge of pleasure. He hovered at that edge, and he firmed his grip on his shaft, wanting to finally reach it.

He wanted to give Vesa a proper show, yet he simply could not drag this out much longer without dying. Vesa’s heated gaze didn’t help matters at all. Rhys tried loosening his hold on his now-leaking shaft, and the varying pressure only made things worse, only increased his ache.

With one final, hard stroke, Rhys came with a small shout as he spilled his seed into his hand. His orgasm lasted for an eternity, much stronger than any he’d had before. It was so strong that he fell over onto the grass, unable to stay on his knees after expending so much energy. 

Rhys must have fallen asleep or passed out, because when he next regained consciousness, he was in a bed made of flowers; soft petals were everywhere, under him and over him. Vesa sat at his bedside, and he couldn’t interpret the expression on Vesa’s face.

Vesa ran a hand through Rhys’ hair. “I must thank you.”

“For what, sir?”

Laughing softly, Vesa said, “For stumbling into my domain and giving me such pleasure. I was lonely; perhaps that’s why you were able to wander in.” He paused. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

“If time works like normal, I’m still on break, sir.” Rhys remembered the proper form of address.

“Why don’t you stay a while? I have more things I’d like to do to you.”

Rhys grew hot all over, and that heat intensified when he realized he was naked. His clothes weren’t the best for sleeping and he was covered, so he wasn’t upset, just self-conscious and unsure. It was difficult to believe Vesa would want him to stick around.

“Stay with you, sir? Here?”

“Indeed.” The look in Vesa’s eyes convinced Rhys that Vesa was telling the truth, as remarkable as that was.

“I’d love to.”

That, too, was the truth.


End file.
